Second Dance Cowboy (Second Chance) (6 page)

“The restaurant. I didn’t forget asking you, I just forgot that I didn’t sh
ow up. There is an explanation.”

“Good, but I don’t care to hear one. Too late
for excuses. That’s history.”

“Then you should forgive me.” He was a blindfolded man throwing darts and making a quick
muddle of things. He should just pull up his big boy boxers and walk away, call it a lesson. So why didn’t his feet move?

“Oh, so I should also overlook the fact that last night you got into a fight over a woman, one who you are still
wanting. I’m sure I could have eased your pain momentarily.” Her gaze slipped to the crotch of his jeans and back up. “But you see, I’m not a bandage for any man’s bruised ego. And I’m certainly not a second choice.” Her tongue clicked, as if to drive her words straight into his chest.

“Deckland has a big mouth.” Maybe he’d decked the wrong brother.

“Don’t blame your brother. Was it a secret? I should have guessed you weren’t drowning yourself in whiskey in celebration for coming home. I also missed the telltale bruising on the knuckles.” Both brows came up over disappointed eyes. “I’ve had my fill of men like you. You think your good looks, money, and charm can get you anything you want. I’m not your type, Dillon. I can see right through the bull shit.”

He shoved his han
ds into his front pockets. “It appears you know everything there is to know about me. I’m sorry that I disturbed you.” He tipped his hat and walked away, wishing he’d done it before he realized her low opinion of him.

Since he’d be spending the night alone, he decided a nice juicy steak would appease his hunger—unfortunately, the hunger for a spicy brunette would need to be laid to rest.

CHAPTER
FIVE

PEYTON FINISHED PILING the last of her grocery items onto the conveyer belt when she caught a glance of Dillon in the next checkout lane. He had two things—steak and beer—another indication that they lived in different worlds.

She
scanned her items and smirked. Microwave mac-n-cheese, apples, pouches of fruit for quick snacks, bread, milk, pizza turnovers—everything Oliver had been after her for weeks to get, and a few other items just for her, which didn’t happen very often.

Hearing Dillon’s smooth Texas twang as he spoke to the cashier
made her throat compress. The flirt! Swallowing the tightness, she shrugged it off. She’d told him exactly what she thought and yet why didn’t she feel justified or satisfied after putting him in his place? He deserved the truth and he got it. After all, he’d asked.

Truth was, he
looked hurt when she’d lashed out and that hadn’t been her intention. She wasn’t a mean person, but she’d stooped low, no matter what her reasoning. She’d certainly never see him again after today.

“That’ll be eighty dollars and fifty-two cents, ma’am.” The pert blonde behind the register
announced, breaking through Peyton’s thoughts like a jackhammer.

“Oh, okay.” Had the price gone up on some of her beauty items? She dipped her fingers into her
purse and pulled out her debit card, handing it over to the worker who snapped her gum tenaciously.

Peyton mechanically peeked at Dillon.
He had his two items and headed toward the door.

“It says the card is declined
,” the young woman said between snaps.

“What?”
Embarrassment tangled with confusion and spurred through her veins. “That’s not possible.” Or was it? She quickly did a mental list of her payments.
Shit!
“Can you scan the card again?” she asked, feeling all eyes turn on her. She prayed that Dillon was gone…long gone.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

She had lousy luck. She looked up into the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. “No Dillon, it’s all okay. There was a glitch with the computer.” Peyton’s head ached with the words.

“No, I’m afraid not. You can’t use this card. Do you have another?” The worker
asked with a growing annoyance.

“No, no I don’t.” Peyton had a strong desire just to walk away. Unfortunately, if she did, she’d have to go somewhere else and buy the necessities. She pulled out her change purse and found three dollars. Why did she have to be one of those people who never carried cash?

“Here. I’ll cover the cost.” Before she could get a word out in protest, Dillon was handing the worker money and she smiled at him in satisfaction, which drove Peyton’s humiliation deeper.

The young woman
rang up the amount and gathered the change from the drawer, and she looked from Dillon to Peyton as if she was confused on who got the change. Humiliation bombarded Peyton. In between wanting to cry and a scream, she grabbed up two of the bags, at least one she knew contained something for dinner. “The rest are yours,” she said and brushed past Dillon, hitting him in the thigh with her chicken. She wanted to apologize, but that meant she’d have to look at him, and at the moment she didn’t want to face anyone.

By the time she arrived home, some of her humiliation had faded. She knew she didn’t need the mascara, the eyeliner and the lip balm. Or the bag of dark chocolate. All of it could have waited until payday. How could this happen?

Carrying in the two bags and dropping them onto the kitchen counter, she looked up to fin
d Oliver watching her. “Did you get the fruit snacks?” he asked.

Lord, she hoped she did. “Let’s see.” She dug through the first bag.
Damn!

“You don’t remember if you got them?”

“Of course I did.” Then she checked the second bag and, at the bottom, she found the box. She jerked the container out as if it were gold. “See. Here they are.” He took the box, tearing off the top. “Don’t eat those right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m making dinner.” She received a rolling of eyes. They were definitely going to have to talk about body gestures.

“What are we having?” He dropped the treats
onto the counter and several packets fell out, falling to the floor.

“Roasted chicken.” She placed the gallon of milk into the fridge.

“Again?” he whined.

She couldn’t tell him she’d planned for tacos
, but after looking at the contents in the bags, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She wondered if Dillon was eating tacos tonight with his steak. Shaking her head, she refused to dwell on what she couldn’t change. She just hoped Oliver didn’t remember her promise of—

“Tacos. Didn’t you say we were having tacos tonight?”

The kid did listen to her talk. “Chicken was on sale. We could settle for salmon cakes. I believe I do have a can in the cabinet.” She opened the door and sifted through several items.

“No. Chicken is fine.”

Smiling, she pushed the salmon can into the back and playfully tousled his hair, reminding her that he was in need of a cut. Before long, he wouldn’t see past the fringe hanging down his forehead.

“I’m going to play a video game,
” he said.

“How was practice?”
She heard the bedroom door close with a thud. Of course, he didn’t want to talk to her now. Even she’d appreciate someone else’s company this evening besides her own. Maybe she’d call Aspen and invite her to dinner.

After preparing the chicken with seasoning, she put it in the oven, just as she heard a soft knock on th
e door. She glanced at the digital clock. Maybe she didn’t need to call Aspen. It was possible the other woman sensed her emotional trauma.

She pulled open the door, ready to vent when her words were lost on her tongue. Standing on her welcome mat was someone completely unexpected. “Dillon
, what are you doing here?”

“I hope I’m not intruding, but you left something at the store.” He brought his hand up. Three bags hung from two fingers.

Gathering her senses, she shook her head. “Those are yours.”

“Don’t let the feminine napkins fool you, I don’t use women
products. And it looks like you have a craving for snacks. No worries, I’ve just come to drop these off.” He set the bags at her feet.

“Who’s at the door, mom?”

Peyton stiffened. Dillon’s eyes widened.

“Mom?” Dillon whispered.

She couldn’t get her tongue to move as Oliver came up behind her.

“Hi, I
’m Dillon. I’m a friend of your mom’s and I ran into her today at the grocery. She was in such a hurry to get home she walked right off without a few of her bags. Can you take these to the kitchen, sir?” Dillon handed the bags over.

Oliver didn’t say a word as he took the groceries and
disappeared.

“I had no idea.” Dillon scratched his jaw.

“You wouldn’t. I didn’t mention my son.”

“He’s waiting for you at home.” The words seemed more as an afterthought and not a
comment.

“Thank you for bringing the groceries. I have some cash tucked away. I’ll go get it.”

“No, Peyton. I won’t accept the money. It’s not a big deal, especially now.” His gaze slid past her.

“I
don’t want to owe you, or anyone.” For years, she’d relied on her Uncle Marty, and although it’d taken her a long time to get on her feet, she was proud of her independence now.

“Hey, I get that you’re an independent woman. I’m not looking
to change that. It’s a few bags of groceries, not a kidney. Have a good night.” He tugged his hat lower and pushed away from the door.

“Wait. How about
dinner in exchange?” If she’d thought over the invite, she’d probably have talked herself out of it.

He hesitated. “I have a steak out in the truck that’ll go bad.”

“I know how to cook steak. I’ve already put my breasts in the oven.” Realizing what she’d said, she shook her head. “Not
my
breasts, the chicken breasts.”

His laughter eased her tension
. “I don’t know. I think I overstepped an invisible boundary at the bar and then again at the grocery. I’m not sure I can trust that I won’t make a fool of myself again.”

“I guess I was a bit harsh in my comments. I promise
, no unleashing. Is that fair?”

“If I’m not intruding, I’d like
to stay.”

She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Grab your steak and come in.” He came back with the package and handed it to her. Seeing him in her home seemed, well,
awkward and nice too. It’d been years since she’d cooked dinner for a man who wasn’t a relative.  She hoped she managed without burning anything. “Have a seat.”

He’d barely had time to sit
before Oliver came bustling in. “Do you play video games?”

Dillon shrugged. “I haven’t in years.”

“You wanna try boxing? We can compete against each other,” Oliver asked with excitement.

“Sure, I can try. I can’t promise I’m any good.” Dillon took
the controller Oliver handed him.

Peyton smiled as she excused herself to finish dinner. She didn’t think either of them heard her.

In the kitchen, she prepared potatoes and the steak while she listened to the conversation in the next room. She went from happy to sad to happy again in a matter of minutes. Her son craved a man’s approval and she understood. After her mom passed away, she didn’t have a female role model. She’d often wondered what it’d be like if her mom was still alive. Children needed affirmation from adults. Thankfully, her Uncle Marty had been there for her, and now Oliver, yet her son seemed to need more. She guessed Uncle Marty wasn’t as fun since he didn’t play video games and toss a football anymore.

Her son had become a chatterbox in Dillon’s company, the most she’d heard him talk in a month.
When he was younger they’d talk for hours, play board games, he seemed happy, and now he wanted to spend more and more time with friends and on the soccer field. Her little guy was growing up.

Anger sliced through her. How could Richie not participate in the upbringing of their son? How could he love his band more than he did anyone? As a drummer for a semi-popular band, being on the road some was necessary, she understood, but Richie had screwed priorities.

Grabbing a meat tenderizer, she pounded the steak as she listened closer to the discussion in the living room. They were talking about a racing game. She slapped the meat onto the broiling pan and sighed.

Peeking around the
corner, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Studly. No denying the man was buff and brawny and could melt her with a flash of his dimples. He was actually sitting in her living room, on her couch. They were going to eat dinner together.

She shook her head lightly.

This was a simple thank you invitation. After all, he’d bought her groceries, as well as brought them to her. Had he seen her beauty items? Her face heated at the mere thought. Would she ever live down the embarrassment? Probably not. This would teach her to balance her checkbook better.

Anyway, she owed him something
for her own peace of mind. She’d fix him dinner and he’d be out the door by eight—nine at the latest.